


Lips that tell a story sad and deep as you

by ArtanisNaanie



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Character Study, Endgame Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, F/M, First Kiss, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing, One Shot, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo, Sweet, don't come at me that's canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29866695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtanisNaanie/pseuds/ArtanisNaanie
Summary: Four times Gerslt kissed someone for the first time, and the one that counted.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Renfri, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44
Collections: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo





	Lips that tell a story sad and deep as you

**Author's Note:**

> So, I just discovered I can get a lot done if I have a deadline? Who knew.
> 
> Anyway, this is the fill for the Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo, prompt: first kiss.
> 
> Thank you to Naomi, Liz and Bex for their help! I would have been lost (and late) without your help! And to all the Witcher fic writers group for the support and agressive cuddling!
> 
> Comments and kudos fuel me and I'm not above begging xD
> 
> Title from "Sad and deep as you", by Traffic

**Roslin**

The first time Geralt kisses someone it's a prostitute.

He has been alone on the Path for quite some time now and the craving for another's touch is getting harder to bear. Kaer Morhen was a cold, unforgiving place, but it had company, and games, and bodies. Even if Geralt, with his extra trials and white hair, never quite fit in with the rest of his brothers there were still moments of respite, of patted shoulders and wrestling matches, of hugs and nightly relief under the secrecy of covers.

On the Path Geralt is alone. Alone and lonely. People skirt away when he approaches, they don’t smile at him when he comes into a tavern, they don’t try to bring him into conversations. After a few months (or has it been years?) the loneliness gnaws at him and he finally decides to follow the advice of his masters: “Pay well. Be attentive. Leave at first light”.

The brothel in Brugge looks like every other brothel Geralt has passed by in the past months (years?), a crooked building three stories high, a heavy curtain behind the door, laughter and music and candlelight on the inside. The madam only takes one look at him, assessing, before calling one of the girls. Geralt doesn’t have a choice in the matter. He doesn’t care, he’s not here to be picky.

The girl who’s taking care of him has passed the age of being called a girl for quite some time. Her hair is a little too black to be natural, there are crinkles on the sides of her eyes, and her breasts hang lower than his meagre knowledge of the female form would have expected, but all he can really think of are her hands; they look soft even if they’re far from little and they’re all he wants from her. Her hands, her touch, maybe her company. She smells like roses, a little bit too much for his sensitive nose, but there’s no fear underneath and it’s all that matters. She calls herself Roslin, catches his hand as soon as it’s free from a hefty purse of coin, and drags him upstairs.

The room looks like any other inn room he’s ever been in. There’s a bed, a table, a chair, a basin with clear water, and it’s lit by an oil lantern that’s just enough to leave the edges of the room in kind shadows. Geralt feels a little bit at a loss, despite the familiar surroundings.

“Well, Witcher, why don’t you start to undress and tell me what you want,” Roslin asks with a very matter-of-fact tone, while she starts to unlace the sheer robe she’s wearing.

Geralt stalls. He’s not used to thinking about what he wants, and even less about saying it. He clears his throat, but no other sound leaves his mouth. He folds his arms against his chest and idly thinks he has never felt younger in his entire life.

“Oh, youngling, is this your first?” she says, and her tone is a little bit mocking and a little bit fond. Her brown eyes are not unkind as she looks at him and there’s a little smile on the edge of her lips. Geralt resists the will to scoff and nods instead. She approaches slowly and Geralt forces himself to relax his arms along his body, opening up instead of closing off, allowing her to stop a few inches away from him. She’s short, and she needs to turn her head up to look at him in the eyes, and he needs to lower his head to do the same. Her hands, still slowly, come to frame his face, thumbs lightly caressing the skin on his cheekbones.

“Well then, let’s start with the basics,” she says, before pulling him towards her face until their lips meet.

Things Geralt knows: punches, hugs, hand clasps, a forbidden caress on the belly, a hand on a cock.

Things Geralt doesn’t know: everything else.

The kiss takes him by surprise. Nobody kissed in the Kaer and every possible memory from before that has been erased from his mind a long time ago. The softness of Roslin’s lips under his, the smell of beeswax, the feeling of hot breath against his cheek, all of it is foreign, and he tenses. Roslin doesn’t let him, though: she grabs his face a little harder, pulls him a little stronger, and opens her lips slightly to lick at his with her tongue. She wants to guide him, therefore he follows. She tastes like mint. Her tongue sweeps into his mouth, hot and wet and strange and oddly pleasant, until he catches the gist of it and is able to reciprocate. He doesn’t even notice that his hands have come to circle her waist, or that he’s bearing some of her weight. He lets her kiss him and kisses her back, until they move as if they’ve always done it, until he dares to cradle her face, too, until she leans back and says “Good, good, now come on”.

Geralt learns lots of things that night with Roslin and yet, kissing might be the most important of them all.

**Eskel**

That winter, Geralt comes back to the Kaer. The keep is bustling with activity, as it always is. Some of the boys he remembers from before he left for his Path have become men, and Witchers, and yes, maybe it has been a few years after all.

Life in Kaer Morhen follows a rhythm, a routine that never changes, and Geralt settles into it, embracing its familiarity: wake, train, work, eat, sleep. It’s almost the same routine as he has on the road but, for the first time in a long time, he’s not alone in it; there is laughter rising when someone stumbles on the Killer, there are shoulders touching his own when they sit to eat, there are golden and amber eyes to meet in the hallways.

There is Eskel.

The first time Geralt kisses Eskel it’s under the cover of the night.

Moonshine is flowing freely between the young Witchers, who brag loudly about who’s had the best hunt of the year. Most of those stories sound like lies to Geralt, but he doesn’t say. He looks at Eskel instead, his friend, his companion, the one who never lets Geralt push him away, until Eskel catches his eyes and smiles.

It’s easy from there, an old intimacy that doesn’t need many words; Geralt stands and leaves, Eskel follows.

When they were younger trainees, they bunked in dormitories filled with boys and the smells and sounds that go with them: sweat and dirt and snores. Now they have their own rooms, with their own bed, and Geralt guides them towards his. Clothes are discarded quickly, almost naked bodies finding each other under the mountain of covers and furs. When Geralt takes Eskel’s face in his hands he can see the confusion in his friend’s eyes for a second before he leans in too, and their lips meet.

It’s nothing like Roslin. Eskel’s lips are fuller and slightly chapped. Cold. There is stubble under Geralt’s fingers and lips, that rasps with his own, creating an odd sound that gets almost lost in the rumble of the sheets. Eskel doesn’t guide him, he just lets himself be kissed, and it’s Geralt, this time, who asks permission along the seam with his tongue. Eskel tastes like moonshine and smells like himself, fire and nutmeg, and they get lost in the meeting of tongues and mouths, the occasional clash of teeth when one of them tries to get deeper, faster, _more_. Geralt can’t say if it’s good, on a theoretical level, but it’s good in the way things are good with Eskel, easy and light and free.

When Eskel pulls away there’s a hint of mischief in his golden eyes, the pull of a smile on his lips.

“Well, Geralt, it looks like you had an interesting path.. wanna show me more?”

Geralt does. That winter, and many others to come, neither Geralt or Eskel feel the harsh cold in Kaer Morhen.

**Renfri**

They’re the same, he and she. They’re monsters by the word of men, made by the hands of mages. Kindred spirits, if Geralt believed in something like that - and maybe he does, somewhere deep inside, where no one, not even him, dares to look -.

However she’s beautiful where he’s anything but, she inspires loyalty where he walks alone, she has purpose, while he accepts the currents of the Continent as his Path.

When they talk, Geralt understands her. They are the same. But when he chooses to retreat she chooses to attack, to rebel, to curse and fight and bite against the one who made her the monster he claims she is. But they are the same, and he pleads with her, as much as pleading he’s capable of, to not prove herself a monster. Because they are the same, and then what would _he_ be?

And when pleading doesn’t work, when logic doesn’t work, he sets his boundaries and hopes, a flick of light in his chest, that she’ll see the reason behind them.

She comes, that night, where he’s camped in the forest. Her golden skin shines in the light of the fire, her brown curls tinged in gold and red. She yields. She says he sees her. He doesn’t look at her but agrees. They’re the same.

The moment they turn towards each other Geralt feels as if there’s a pull between them. A crackling energy building. The roots of a lightning bolt. Her lips part and Geralt can’t takehis eyes off them. They’re full and red, and he tries to resist them, for a moment. But then she cards her fingers in his hair, softly, lovingly, as if he’s not a monster, as if he’s not hiding in the woods like one, and he leans in.

Her lips are soft, and plump, and they meet Geralt’s eagerly as if she’d known they were always going to end there, too. And again. And again. And then the lips are less soft, less yielding, and there are bites and tongues and heat, so much heat, Geralt feels he’s consumed by it. The fire paints magnificent accents on her skin.

The next day, Geralt kills Renfri, and he feels like he’s killed a part of himself. Her brooch stays on him at all times, a reminder, a warning, a malediction.

**Yennefer**

Yennefer of Vengeberg exudes power from her throne in the middle of an orgy. Her violet eyes, as unnatural as his yellow ones, see too much from the very start. Beggars can’t be choosers, he supposes.

“Whatever the price.”

The price is a bath, apparently, because he reeks.

She’s sharp, and broken, and ambitious, of a beauty forged by Aretuza’s magic and yet imperfect enough to still be enticing.

He’s gotten his lesson with Renfri, though, about getting too close to mirrors. Now even as he allows her to see him vulnerable in the body he tries to guard his mind, his thoughts, his emotions, for they’re not hers to see, they’re not for anybody to see anymore.

He doesn’t trust her as she helps him, he trusts her even less when she declares his debt paid, and less still when he understands what she wants.

When the scent of lilac and gooseberries fills his nose and steals his mind he vaguely thinks he shouldn’t have trusted her at all. Her lips barely pinch his lower one, a kiss that is not even a touch but enough for him to plunge in the dark.

“I’ve always loved a good, old-fashioned trap.”

Yeah, a nap would be wonderful.

**Jaskier**

Geralt didn’t think he would have many first lefts. He must have passed the century sometime in the last years and the weight of time is heavier every day that passes. Not on his back, or his knee (not yet, at least), but behind his eyelids, under his ribs. Still, this feels like a first. Or a dream.

Geralt would never have called himself lucky. He’s always felt as if Destiny decided to play a game of cat and mouse with him all his life, and he was the mouse. She caught him, he thought, on a mountain for the last time, fucking him over and over again and leaving him with nothing.

Two years later he’s not so sure. He stopped running, at one point. He turned towards the cat and marched right into her jaws, nothing left to lose. He expected to be chewed and swallowed, and instead he went out of that fight with the most precious gift.

Ciri mended him from the inside, filled him with _life_ the kind he didn’t think he'd ever have. She gave meaning to his mess with Yennefer and then gave her meaning, too. Ciri cast a light over every doubt he nursed until she found the bigger one and brought it to the surface.

This is how Geralt finds himself in Novigrad, Jaskier's big blue eyes turned to him. He’s seen them changing colors during the evening: grey, cold as ice, storming like the sea during a tempest, distant like the sky on a cloudy day, wet like a monsoon. They’re clear now, pools of warmth. Not unscathed, no, perhaps not even forgiving, not totally, but welcoming enough, trusting enough. A foundation to rebuild on something better, something beautiful, something that will resist the trials of time and fate.

In the silence of the room, Jaskier’s heartbeat is loud, quick, and it almost flutters as Geralt takes his face between his hands. His lips are parted, glistening from the memory of the teeth that just caught them, and they are as enticing as his eyes. They get closer slowly, like loving through honey, and when Geralt’s nose touches Jaskier’s his eyelids flutter and close. So trusting, so beautiful, so _good_. Geralt never wants to break him again.

As their lips meet there’s no lightning or mystical sign of any kind. It’s a kiss like a lot of others, slightly chapped lips, the vague prickle of the beginning of a beard, breath that smells like cheap wine, the giving and taking of tongues and teeth; for Geralt, it feels like the first time he’s allowed to come home.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my other Witcher fics if you like:
> 
> \- [A piper at the gates of dawn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23411083/chapters/56107210); canon universe, ep 6 fix-it, rated E, <9k. Geralt finds Jaskier one year and a half after the mountain.  
> \- the [Muse 'verse](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752481): Modern setting, from hook-up to lovers, rated E, Geralt wears kilts, angst with a happy ending. <20k  
> \- [Calligraphy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25365418): 5k ficwip challenge, College/University, rated E, inspired by art, fluff, 5k  
> \- [In the kitchen of a keep in the mountains](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25910944/chapters/62970847): canon universe, found family, food as a love language, internal monologues, character study, rated T, 12k  
> \- [ There was only one bed and it was uncomfortable](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26283094): 5+1 Crack, rated E, 4k  
> \- [Wish you were here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26579083); canon universe, porn without plot, rated E, 5k. Geralt walks in on Jaskier.. again.  
> \- [Of food, friendship and apologies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27954674); canon universe, ep 6 fix-it, rated G, 2k, not or pre slash. Food is a love language.  
> \- [As we lie here in our bed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28527864): canon universe, porn without plot, somnophilia prompt for the Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo, rated E, 1k  
> \- [Black in front of my eyes, bark against my back](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28616832): canon universe, porn without plot, outdoor, clothed sex, rated E, <1k  
> \- [Things that bump in the night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28617060): pre canon universe, porn without plot, Eskel/Geralt, Kaer Morhen, rated E, <1k  
> \- [I quite like seeing you all tied up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28617300): canon universe, porn without plot, Geraskier, soft bondage, rated E, <1k  
> \- [Julian Pankratz’ other, other pen name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29629470): canon universe, crack treated seriously, Geraskier, Jaskier writes RPF, rated E, <9k  
> \- [The bath curse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29714973): canon universe, crack treated seriously, Geraskier, 5+1 baths, rated E, <9k  
> And you can come yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ArtanisNaanie) too!


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